Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder
by DovieLR
Summary: Severus Snape may be bitter, but he has his reasons. Spoilers for OotP.


"Nugh. Nugh, nugh, nugh."

The tugging on his sleeve woke him, long before the guttural sounds registered in his ears. Severus had learnt to tune them out unless they were especially insistent. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and looked at the clock. It was only half past five, but she was already awake and hungry. With a groan, he sat up and yanked the bell pull.

"Morning, Madeleine," he mumbled.

"Nugh."

She tugged at his nightshirt again. Perhaps she wasn't hungry. Maybe she needed changing. Well, that hardly mattered. The house-elves were always up at this hour regardless, and she'd be hungry soon enough. He rolled over and tossed off the covers, then gently lifted her gown.

"Nugh!"

Clawing nails dug into his hands as he attempted to check her nappy. She'd become strangely shy in the past few weeks, though he wasn't quite certain why.

"Madeleine, dear," he said quietly, "I have to see if you need changing."

"Nugh!"

Severus winced as her fingernails dug into his hands again, this time drawing blood. He hated stunning her for something as simple as tending to her hygiene, but after the ordeal with Potter the night before, he was too tired to deal with her damnable modesty. With a heavy sigh, he retrieved his wand from the bedside table.

"Stupefy," he whispered.

She immediately went slack, and he only just caught her before her head knocked against the bedframe.

"I have already seen it all, you know," he muttered in frustration. "It's not as if we weren't married for two years before—"

He shook his head as he worked a finger in between the pad and her thigh, not sure why he couldn't bring himself to say it, even after all this time. Certainly Madeleine wouldn't be offended. She wouldn't be anything.

Sopping wet. That's why she was awake at this ungodly hour. He shouldn't have let her have that third cup of hot chocolate the night before. But hot chocolate seemed to be the only thing that would calm her down when she was exceedingly agitated.

After he'd cleaned and changed her, Severus brushed her hair back from her brow and planted a light kiss on her forehead. At times like this, he could almost imagine she was only sleeping. When her mouth didn't hang open stupidly, when her closed lids shut off the vacant stare, when she stopped the incessant prattle, he could remember the woman he had loved—the woman who had loved him.

He leant down and pressed a kiss to her unresponsive lips. He could have ravished her body if he'd wanted, as he'd been tempted to many times. It wasn't as if she would know the difference. But it just wouldn't be the same. Without her quickened breath stirring his hair, the husky whispers in his ear, the fingernails carving tracks into his back ... it wouldn't even come close. Why bother? He imagined his hand would be every bit as satisfying as making love to the soulless shell of his wife.

There was the question of children, though. They were purebloods, after all, and so they were expected to pass that lineage on. Even without a soul she could conceive and give birth. At some point in the future, however, he would have to look his children in the eye and explain why he'd bedded their incapacitated mother. Somehow he didn't think his hypothetical offspring would understand. In this case, Severus really couldn't see his way clear to using any means to achieve that end—Slytherin or no.

Again he pushed the thought out of his mind as took her clean nappy off again and levitated her to the bathroom. It was early still. He'd have time to give her a proper bath before trying to pound some knowledge of Potions into minds almost as empty as hers but without a good excuse. Five minutes later, the tub filled and her pliant body resting against the porcelain, he began to wash her.

For the millionth time, he wished he could talk to her just once more—especially after the previous night. At least Potter had only stumbled on a memory of his school days in the headmaster's Pensieve. If Potter had seen how the Dark Lord had ordered Madeleine's Kiss for one of Severus' mistakes, he might have killed the boy on the spot.

When she was dried and dressed in something form-fitting and difficult to snag on anything, he revived her and walked her to the table. The house-elves had brought their breakfast in whilst they were in the bathroom, and the smell of food urged her in that direction with little prompting. He cut up her food and fed her, only settling down to his own cold breakfast when she started to beat her beaker on the table in a way that said she'd had enough of food for the time being.

Once he'd washed up himself, he made the usual morning checks: all the sharp objects safely locked away; unbreakable charms still in place on all the glass and ceramics; finger-paints, modelling clay, and soft toys easily accessible; repelling and silencing charms on all the doors. Then he left for the day, saying goodbye, only to receive another "nugh" in response.

The day passed as all the others had—full of memories of their seventh year. Skiving off History of Magic to snog in the dungeon, her musical laughter ringing through the halls as he chased her back to the Slytherin Common Room. Unlike everyone else, Madeleine had found his many oddities endearing. So he'd proposed at the Halloween feast, and they'd married over the Easter holidays. Good thing Potter hadn't seen any of those memories, either. Severus guarded them closely.

When he returned home that night, she'd painted the sofa and walls in addition to the many rolls of parchment he always left out. He charmed the mess off the sofa as usual, without a second thought. For some reason he could never quite explain to himself, he always left whatever she'd painted on the walls. After he'd dug a large pile of clay out of his slippers, he changed for bed. All in all, she could have done far worse.

In the fourteen years since the Kiss, Severus had never worked out why Madeleine continued to come to bed when he did. Why should she gravitate to where he was rather than simply falling asleep on the floor? But he didn't mind. Some nights she even snuggled up to him, almost as if she remembered who he was. But no—she couldn't. All her memories had left with her soul. Regardless, he welcomed the warmth and closeness when she rolled over next to him and laid her head on his shoulder.

"I miss you," he whispered into her hair.

"Nugh ... nugh, nugh."


End file.
